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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27661229">sunlight</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryffindormischief/pseuds/gryffindormischief'>gryffindormischief</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Harry Potter AUs! [36]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, F/M, Hermione doesn't appear sadly, Romione is background - Freeform, all hinny on screen, still magic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:04:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,163</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27661229</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryffindormischief/pseuds/gryffindormischief</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter is known as different things in different circles. To most it's master Auror, DADA expert, stern supervisor. To others, tulle hater, terrible liar, avoider of feelings. The question of the hour: where might Ginny Weasley fall on that spectrum?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Harry Potter AUs! [36]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/817470</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>86</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightfortherightsofhouseelves/gifts">fightfortherightsofhouseelves</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is part 1 of 3 of a birthday fic for fightfortherightsofhouseelves! I hope you all enjoy this absolute fluff monster. Parts 2 and 3 to be posted soon. Thank you to the amazing narukoibito for taking a look at this whole thing and helping it be better.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>If Harry never sees a bit of tulle or a chocolate coin again in his life, it will be too soon. He’s a relatively rugged bloke, generally a result of being an Auror, but twisting little squares of coarse fabric between his fingers and tying them off with bits of ribbon is hell on your fingers. Right now, he’s about four twirls from blisters and two from insanity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In Hermione’s defense, she did intend to have this be a two man job. But Harry knows the last thing anyone wants after catching your third international portkey is to visit four boutique wedding shops and then pull a bunch of ‘carefully selected’ frilly bits together. And he knows Ginny Weasley in particular hates two things - running errands and frilly bits. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Also, Harry’s current predicament - see chapped fingers - would have been avoidable if he didn’t remain Molly Weasley’s ‘greatest disappointment in the area of household and other non-combative charms.’ And that’s a direct quote from a particularly trying afternoon spent at the Burrow learning the domestic arts. On his umpteenth failed attempt at sifting flour using his wand, she had shook her head, powder fell from her hair to her shoulders, and bemoaned her ‘poor, uneducated Harry.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Never mind that he’s a decorated Auror and teaches upper level DADA courses at Hogwarts. Apparently those are skills for ‘the masses’ who fail to appreciate the subtlety of artistic charms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Although right at this moment, as he contemplates his raw hands, tense shoulders, and aching eyes, Harry wonders if Molly’s ringing disappointment had been so very unfounded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Regardless, he presses on, daydreams of a future filled with whiskey brown eyes enough to put aside his recriminations and content himself with the less than enjoyable present. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he looks at the evidence, it certainly stacks in a favorable way, maybe. He and Ginny wrote each other while she was away. They graduated to texting and the occasional phone call once she got her own mobile, yes. And yet there’s still a small part of him that warns he could be overly invested in what could end up simply a friendly correspondence. But most of him is relatively convinced that what was formerly friendly discourse has more recently become flirtatious in its own way. And when he suggested that perhaps they would be able to spend a bit more time together outside what’s expected of them as best man and maid of honor...well it was a fairly non-committal suggestion, but one that was agreed to nonetheless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shrill ring of the building’s intercom jolts Harry from his aimless considerations and reconsiderations and soon he’s headed toward the door with hands too clammy to turn the knob. He presses the ratty intercom’s button, forgetting to clear his throat until it will surely broadcast to his new guest. “Er - hello?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your partner in crime has arrived,” comes a cheery voice. “Do let me up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry smiles to himself. “Password?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She chuckles, “Hm, let me think,” he can practically see her devilish grin, imagine how she taps her chin to dramatize her mischief making, “I dare say the password may be, ‘remember Ron still doesn’t know who threw out their slice of his ill-advised flourless chocolate cake’?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry grunts but doesn’t relent. He doesn’t fear Ron. The bloke could be about to rip your head off and set it on a spike, but get a few drinks in him and he’ll tuck you in and sing a lullaby while he’s at it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh really, Harry. It’s about to rain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How novel. Rain in London?” Harry says with a laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t think I won’t hex you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With an ever-widening grin, Harry presses the buzzer and admits Ginny to the building, glancing around helplessly as if he will suddenly find himself naked or surrounded by piles of trash. Or perhaps one of his fantasy love declarations will have materialized and laid itself on the kitchen table complete with balloons, confetti, and other primary colored fanfare. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A cheeky patterned knock at the door alerts Harry to his guest’s arrival and he’s soon tugging it open with a shade too much energy to disguise his eagerness. But he can’t quite manage to feel embarrassed when Ginny’s face is just as bright and keen as his. “Shall I come in then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry consents with an awkward jerk of his head and moves aside enough for Ginny to step past, leaving a trail of her floral scent in the air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve started without me,” Ginny says, working the laces of her boots free and revealing the taut lines of her legs currently temptingly swathed in deep red tights. “Do you doubt my abilities, sir?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well you are a jock,” Harry begins, trying to play it casual and maybe a bit suave as he tucks his hands in his pockets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, and here I was thinking my plans to get better acquainted in the way consenting adults do was mutual,” Ginny answers airily. “Now I know you just invited me over to gloat and critique.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Harry manages to really enjoy the way his insides have begun dancing the conga, his mobile lights up with Ron’s face half covered in Chudley’s garish orange. Ginny glances down and merely flicks her brows upward, like half a challenge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which he sadly has to accept because at this point, if Harry were to nominate a bridezilla in the impending Granger-Weasley nuptials, Ron would win by a landslide. In fact, Hermione’s outsourcing of the wedding favor project is likely motivated by a need to get something outside of Ron’s steel-eyed oversight. Or at least mostly. “‘Lo Ron.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ginny should be arriving soon - I confirmed with her over the weekend. Her portkey got in just about an hour ago. She probably has to drop some junk at her flat - ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ron’s outline of Ginny’s possible activities and estimated arrival time continues, but Harry hears next to none of it as Ginny tosses her denim jacket over the back of one of the chairs at Harry’s kitchenette. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Really, that’s all it takes to grind the gears of his brain to a complete halt. Ginny Weasley and miles of freckly skin. And damn it if she doesn’t know too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Ron’s instructions fade entirely from Harry’s awareness, Ginny wanders to the bookshelves in the den, lifts a title at random, and begins examining it studiously. Harry really wants to believe that she’s faking it all, the intense concentration and utter lack of concern for Harry’s attentions. That she knows what she’s doing, and it’s all on purpose to drive him batty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But with every passing second that he spends watching her nibble at the corner of her lip, run her fingers through her hair, toy with the silvery loop at the top of her ear, he’s less and less sure that’s even a remote possibility. Ginny just exudes an overwhelming brilliance that makes him feel like he should flee the room, perhaps the country, and somehow is still happy about it. The pang that rocks his chest when she glances up at him is almost painful but deliciously so. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hell he’s a mess. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And given her teasing wink, Ginny Weasley damn well knows it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ron,” Harry finally chokes out, cutting Ron off in the middle of some sort of macaroon-themed rant, “Ron, I have things under control.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right!” Ron answers brightly, “and as soon as Ginny gets there it will be even better. Two heads and all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No - Ginny she. She uh - “ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The truth at this point is that Ginny has now turned her full attention on Harry and he’s probably about to become the subject of one of those unexplained spontaneous combustion episodes on the telly. But Harry’s always had this odd instinct to lie out his arse when under pressure, even when completely unnecessary or ineffectual. His worst lies tend to crop up when they’re also relatively low stakes situations - take the Roonil Wazlib incident. Which is a story for another time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A time when Ron isn’t shouting in his ear while Ginny makes what Harry can only call ‘bedroom eyes’ at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ginny’s busy. Team stuff,” Harry finally says, immediately cutting into Ron’s blustering and ignoring Ginny’s quizzical expression. It was a weird panic move, lying about Ginny being </span>
  <em>
    <span>there</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Ginny’s likely thinking he could have just said they’re busy with the favors and normal brain Ron would have handled that fine, said ‘Sure thing, thanks again’ and hung up. But Ginny doesn’t know wedding-brain Ron. He’s a micromanaging, overly affectionate mess of a human that will definitely come over to do some combination hugging and bossing Ginny around. “She’s real sorry, mate. Sent me over some stuff from that bakery I like and everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s getting increasingly difficult to focus on Ron’s questioning rant, nevermind concocting semi-plausible lies. Particularly when Ginny’s thumbing through a book she can’t really be reading - not when she keeps darting her gaze up to his and wriggling her brows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honestly, up to this point, she’s been unbelievably tempting but. Harry can resist. He has spent a lot of his life doing just that. Particularly so in the last year. It’s a lot easier to resist when you’re avoiding a vague idea. But when that vague idea becomes a very real, potent crush on Ginny Weasley, even the majority of a continent between them didn’t seem to stay his urges. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apparently his imagination is a lot more active than he realized.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now though, she’s not doing that overt sultry ‘I’m going to eat you alive’ bit. She’s just propped her hip on the corner of the table, making goofy faces and winking at him like they’re in on some secret joke. Which, they are. But hell if her teasing isn’t a thing for him. Which is a bit inconvenient when one considers just how much of Ginny’s waking hours are spent teasing one person or another.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ron - Ron.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny snickers, looks like she’s about to make some joke entirely too loud for the lie he’s currently weaving on the shoddy loom of his imagination. Harry closes the distance between them and bloody buggering hell instead of doing what he really, really wants, he shoves his palm over her mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nevertheless, she continues under the muffling of his hand, “</span>
  <span>Oou 'eaan Won-Won?</span>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ron is still prattling on and Harry really hopes nothing important has been said in the last five to seven minutes because he’s maybe heard four words total. It’s hard to follow when he can feel her lips against his palm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, he puts on his best ‘Auror Harry’ barking tone and gets a word in edgewise. “Ron, I have a lot of things to do,” he studiously ignores Ginny’s twinkling eyes at that and continues, “things you told me to do. Things that I can’t do while you’re babbling away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Put me on speaker.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny pulls Harry’s hand from her mouth and he gives her his best ‘don’t test me’ Auror glare in the likely futile attempt to avoid Ron realizing Ginny is here. It feels like it definitely won’t succeed when Ginny winks at him like she’s up to something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you have a fiance?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a grin, Ginny whispers, “Is Ron finally asking you to run away with him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry flips her off as Ron’s petulant reply comes almost immediately, “She told me to ‘keep myself busy.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t see how that’s my problem,” Harry puts in, earning a double thumbs up from Ginny. Amid Ron’s increasingly dramatic and unreasonable begging, Harry pushes out in one breath, “Bye-Ron-things-to-do-talk-later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After disconnecting the call, Harry tosses his mobile on the table among the swathes of pastel tulle and ribbon while Ginny slips back onto her feet. Harry moves to take a step backward but Ginny doesn’t let him go far, following closely and grasping the front of his t-shirt for good measure. He almost gets lost in her wide, searching eyes, but then her tongue darts out to lick her lips and he’s enraptured. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This close, he can see the little dips and lines on her lips, see where her peach lipstick has begun to wear away. And when she clearly wants him this close, he can let himself stare at That Freckle. The one at the edge of her lip...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny raises her chin so they’re nose to nose, and it’s pretty terrifying. Honestly, Harry’s a bit horrible at reading signals - he’s currently equal parts convinced she’s going to smack him or snog him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he had a chance to give the situation further thought, Harry might consider the fact that he really hasn’t done anything to warrant a slap. Or maybe the broader issue that Harry’s mind tends to go worst case scenario pretty quickly and frequently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right now though, Ginny’s looking at him like...well remarkably like that photo they snapped of her right before she sank her twentieth shot of the Harpies’ Cup winning game. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe someday he will get used to what Ginny does to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her hand knits through the hair at the back of his head, and he thinks that’s not really a possibility.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pulls his lips down to hers, and he’s sure it’ll never be true.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All too soon, Ginny’s mouth leaves his and she’s staring up at him with her brow furrowed. “Alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If the grin and accompanying chuckle are half as goofy as they feel, Harry probably looks like an idiot. But he can’t manage to be upset about it. “Er- yeah. Brilliant.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looks amused, her fingers toy with the collar of his t-shirt. “So that’s how you kiss? I mean, I don’t mind being in charge but…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His cheeks must be lobster red right now, and he can’t manage more than a strangled yelp. At least his instincts seem to respond in the physical sense because his palms rise to cup either side of her jaw, his lips part and he swallows her quiet gasp of his name without a second thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny leans backward and ends up sort of perched on the back of his sofa so he can step between her knees. Her hands slip down and around his back, palms warm against his shoulder blades. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not until his fingers skip from their exploration of Ginny’s dark tights to that dangerous unknown beneath the hem of her skirt that Harry’s brain melts to </span>
  <em>
    <span>GinnyGinnyGinny</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s no telling how long it’s been, though Ginny’s flushed cheeks, kiss red lips, and glassy eyed expression are indications it’s been a solid bout of snogging time. Harry’s a long game kisser. Apparently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny bites the corner of her lip. “Your hand wasn’t bothering me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chuckling, Harry drops his forehead to her shoulder and takes a deep, steadying breath, before pulling his hips back. Ginny lets out a sigh that almost sounds disappointed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was just thinking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny snorts and hops down from the back of the sofa, “I liked when you weren’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry takes another deep breath, focusing all his attention on the bright paint on Ginny’s third toe, which is currently leading a valiant charge to escape from her tights. “I know. But you just got in, and we haven’t talked, and it’s - it must be time for dinner. Or breakfast? I’ve lost track of time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Snogging me will do that to you, so I’ve heard,” Ginny answers with a smirk, finger combing her hair and swiping at the dark red lipstick he’s managed to smudge over her chin. He must look a sight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry swipes at his own lips and barks out a laugh, “Yes, I can now verify that the minute contact is made with Ginevra Molly Weasley’s lips, a wormhole forms and space and time cease to exist in any concrete manner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, very wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey,” Harry continues, biting back the laugh bubbling in his chest. It’s kind of unbelievable, the heady mind numbing feeling of knowing he’s kissed Ginny Weasley. That she seemed to like it and likely wants to do it again. And then some. The build up to this point has been such a long and winding path a small part of Harry wondered if it would be anticlimactic for one or both of them. Mostly he worried he’d be a let down or wouldn’t be able to convince her to keep him, but she doesn’t seem too eager to make a quick exit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well then,” Ginny says, stepping back into her boots and kneeling to work the laces, “Where are we eating and talking?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That easy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No apparently you’re not that easy,” Ginny says with a wink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry sticks out his tongue, quite mature yes, and grabs his trainers, “I know a place.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Ginny’s jogging toward the bedroom, fresh from the shower, when she hears the grating vibration of metal against wood. She turns just in time to see her slim, button free mobile vibrates itself off the edge of her kitchen table. Which would inevitably lead to a swift and painful death for said phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily her skills transfer from the pitch and she darts across the room to grab it mid-drop with only a minor nip-slip in the process. Another bit of luck is the fact that she has no gawking audience to view the slip. Or perhaps it’s not quite luck - she’d tried hard enough to convey her desire for some very deliberate and mutual slipping </span>
  <em>
    <span>off</span>
  </em>
  <span> of clothing the previous evening, but Harry’s either completely oblivious or scared out of his wits. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it’s both. He did get a little bit of a deer-in-the-headlights look when she took off her tights in an innocent ‘let’s sit and goof off chatting’ way. It was equal parts adorable and frustrating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She notes the large nosed caricature of Ron - artistry courtesy of George - and manages to answer before it goes to voicemail. “Ro- ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where the bloody hell do you come off Ginny?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not really sure what you could be referencing. Is this about me cancelling? I mean, you’re welcome for coming home on holiday to make party favors for your damn wedding.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“First, you can’t pull that if you didn’t actually do any work and second, don’t play dumb,” Ron growls, definitely firmly in the enraged ‘you ate the last bit of my birthday cake’ territory rather than the ‘sore loser after family quidditch’ vein. Normally when Ginny’s in this type of tiff with Ron, she 100% knows who, what, when, where, and why.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a bit unsettling to be completely in the dark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was half between sarcasm and genuinely asking Ron,” Ginny shoots back, resuming her post-shower dressing. “You’re being rude.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am being rude Ginny? I - I, Ron Weasley, am the one being rude?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wow he’s really off the deep end. And apparently does not appreciate being told so because Ginny gets some almost incoherent swearing in response to her kind observation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When his fuming calms, Ron decides to be reasonable, or at the very least realizes that venting specifics is much more of a release. Honestly Ginny’s a bit curious so she doesn’t really tease as much as she might on your average sibling banter-fight day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is my wedding.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And Hermione’s, but sure, yeah, I’m tracking with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you know that Harry, Harry my best mate and all around great bloke, has feelings for you. I’m dull about feelings, but even I can see when a poor slob is pining over a bird. And I know you’re going to say you had your ‘mutual’ agreement about ‘timing being off’ for you two or some bull.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That one stumps her. As far as Ginny’s aware, she and Harry and whatever they’ve beeb up to writing letters and chatting on the phone has been very much kept quiet. It’s been less than twenty-four hours that they’ve even been in the same city, and they definitely have never discussed logistics of what any of this means.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know all of that crap and yet you dump the wedding prep plans and rub your little sultry tryst in all of our faces - including Harry’s!” Ron finishes, shrill tone rivaling Molly Weasley after discovering her washing hung out to dry had been used as pseudo quidditch hoops.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Ron continues his rant, which at this point will almost surely be variations on the information she’s already gathered from the conversation, Ginny really tries to organize it all into some coherent narrative. Ron adds something about ‘almost ruining family Christmas breaking hearts’ last year and if possible she’s more confused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Last Christmas was pretty enjoyable overall. The usual family, food, gifts, and loads of firewhiskey. Harry was looking adorably awkward in that ‘I don’t know how gorgeous I am’ way of his and he was the first person she told about making Captain which - </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh poor, stupid idiot Harry and his obnoxious hero complex.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“ - and plus you didn’t even pretend you ate the scones I sent for your birthday!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The picture of the glorious shade of vermillion that must be spreading up the back of Ron’s neck and ears is pretty much automatically called to mind when she hears that hoarse tone in his voice. But she really needs to end this call and prepare for giving Harry a good tongue lashing and then hopefully...</span>
  <em>
    <span>a good tongue lashing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The front door swings open and jars Ginny from her combined plotting-daydreaming train of thought and Harry tosses his keys to the side, free arm holding a large bag of what smells like fresh baked goods and a copy of the Prophet held between his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which, gross. Also there are much better things he can do with those lips. She’s got firsthand knowledge at this point. Ron’s got to be stopped and the time for polite niceties has passed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ron, have a cuppa, snog Hermione, look at pictures of the Canons,” she ignores his indignant ‘Oi!’ and continues, “Do whatever you want, except call me. I’m busy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With your little boy toy!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bye Ron.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once she’s sure the call is well and truly disconnected, Ginny turns her attention to Harry who has dropped the paper on the table and begun unpacking delicious smelling fresh bagels from the brown bag.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A quick glance at the paper previously held between Harry’s lips reveals a slightly blurred but easily identifiable photo of her snogging her ‘little boy toy’ up against a brick wall near Harry’s flat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A brick wall she became very familiar with last night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were caught,” Ginny says while Harry disappears in the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After some drawer and cabinet slamming and the sound of the kettle flicking on, Harry returns and grins. “Actually you were caught. They’ve got no idea who your, and I quote, ‘tall, dark, and mysterious stranger is.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t preen; they specifically left out the handsome bit,” Ginny grumbles, tearing her bagel into bite-sized chunks while Harry carefully slices his in half. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s implied.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s only a matter of time before they put two and two together,” Ginny says after a moment, “That’s not even three blocks from your flat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doesn’t change the fact that you were the one who got caught.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny winks, “Yeah, but I caught you, didn’t I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Groaning, Harry throws his head back, “Gross. Is that a pick up line? Is this what you were doing at ‘spring training’ with the Harpies?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only after lights out - we’ve got a rep on and off the field.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which one includes terrible pick up lines?” Harry asks with a snort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At some point she’s going to have to broach the subject, get down to it and all that. But the flirting is so much easier it’s kind of nerve wracking to leave it behind. The minute she brings it up it’s all real. Which is good - that’s what she wants. She’s just got to pluck up the nerve and get it done since Harry clearly isn’t planning on it any time in the next century.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After tossing her napkin at Harry’s forehead with professional grade accuracy, thank you very much, Ginny shoves the conversation in her preferred direction. “Apparently, you told me I ‘caught’ you last Christmas…” She pauses and Harry freezes a bit, more of the deer thing, so she clarifies, “told me you had feelings for me. Romantic ones.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In one of his oddest moves yet, Harry decides, apparently, to just not respond. So Ginny lets it sit for a few moments while her heart lodges itself firmly in her throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Until finally she can’t bear it and prompts in a hoarse tone, “An answer would be good. Anytime you’re ready.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And when he continues to studiously examine the patterns his knife leaves in the cream cheese, Ginny clears her throat and supplies, “Yeah, and apparently ‘we’ decided that it just wasn’t the right time for you and me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry finally speaks, low but without hesitation, “Well it wasn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh if there’s one thing that shoves Ginny firmly from the ‘nervous about feelings’ territory into indignant rage it’s Harry being obtuse. She grunts and rips into another piece of bagel. “We did not decide that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was planning to - remember we both had things to say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When I made captain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing, Harry pushes back his chair and disappears into the kitchen, presumably in response to the shrill squeal of the kettle. He returns with two steaming mugs and the scent of bergamot on the air. “I wasn’t going to mess that up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny quirks her brow. “Right. Because I can’t date you and play quidditch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry lets out a quiet chuckle and ruffles his hair. “I mean I’m a handful you don’t even know yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’re talking about your little bum cheeks, I can handle them just fine,” Ginny stares off, a bit distant in her daydream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oi! Little!” Harry slaps his mug down on the table so his tea nearly sloshes over the lip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nodding, Ginny continues, “Like two halves of a quaffle just waiting to be handled by an expert.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, is Gwenog here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh you are dead,” Ginny says around the rim of her mug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry thrusts his finger at her, “You can’t be mean to me,” he pouts, “I’m very fragile - remember what Ron said.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once she’s shoved their dishes aside, Ginny props her hip on the table so she’s settled right where Harry can’t look away. “Ron said you're a self sacrificing arse who never puts his own happiness first, which ends up with you being an idiot and not making an idiot woman who loves you back very happy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the wake of her jibe-accusation-what have you, Harry pauses, nibbles at the corner of his lip, and doesn’t stall per se. It’s a weighing of words, maybe some confusion that Ginny’s just declared her love for him which if she’s honest was a bit of a surprise to her as well. Not the feeling but the declaring part.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, Harry says, “I feel like he didn't say all that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I ad libbed, but the sentiment was the same.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry’s full on smirking now and she either wants to smack or snog him. “Was it now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s still a damn toss up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite her posturing and overall blustering demeanor, Ginny does have her doubts. Again, not about the whole feelings thing on her side. But about whether it’s - reciprocated. She lowers her gaze and fiddles with her cuticles. “Yes. It was.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After scooting forward so his chest is bracketed by her knees, Harry tucks his face against her ribcage and murmurs, “How do I make up for it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny’s hands rise, almost unbidden, and knit through his windblown locks. “Doing those wedding favors was a good start.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And the snogging?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She weighs the proposition before deciding. “Too mutually enjoyable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry tilts his head backward and grins. “You enjoyed then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps part two?”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Harry finally takes a hint (and acknowledges emotions)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this is where the gryffy style sultry bits come in!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Harry feels like a bit of a creep, watching Ginny sleep. It’s a thing creeps do, right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s just so beautiful and peaceful and still fierce for sure, but younger somehow, in her sleep, and he wants to live in it for a bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That, and she’s pinning his arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s lucky though that his eyesight is alright this close up because otherwise he’d just be lying here sniffing her instead, which has to be higher on creepy levels. At least, that’s what Harry’s telling himself now. If someone else is theoretically creepier, then he can’t be that bad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shifts and snuggles closer. Speaking of smells he really hopes he doesn’t have body odor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a world class snuggler, you know?” Ginny murmurs, voice muzzy with sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry laughs and shifts just enough that he can roll onto his side without completely dislodging Ginny, which allows him to pull her closer. “Thanks. You’re no slouch yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her face is 100% in his armpit when she grumbles, “I’m pretty amazing at some other intimate two person activities too if you’d just take a damn hint.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Between her bed head, his maybe body odor, and their definite mutual stale breath, it’s quite a sexy morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Actually, that sarcasm is misplaced because Ginny’s hand just snuck up the back of his t-shirt and he feels pretty ready to go, honestly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See, I comprehend the hints, but I just disregard them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to smack you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a charmer,” Harry laughs, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead, half ready to doze off for another half hour. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny stiffens though, and pushes up on her elbow. Harry moans at the loss, but Ginny doesn’t seem to clock it. “You know - I tease but I don’t want to push you - I’m ready but.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her hair is almost as wild as he knows his must be, one side flattened from sleep while the other sticks up in a porcupine-esque style. It’s adorable and makes him want to laugh again, but she looks so serious, so concerned, biting at the corner of her lip, that he forces equal gravity in his own expression. “Gin, no - I’m ready too. It just didn’t feel right yet and I wasn’t sure about you - ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which part confused you? The strip tease or inviting myself to sleep over two nights in a row?” Ginny asks with a roll of her eyes, but for all her sass, he can feel the tension leaving her body. “Classic Harpy behavior. What would Mum say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry leans in to kiss her, intent on making his consent to moving things along very clear. However that plan is quickly derailed by renewed realization of the aforementioned stale breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny must either smell his or taste her own because her nose wrinkles - as a side note, it’s adorable when she does it - and presses the tip of her finger to the end of his nose. “Pause? Reconvene after some minty freshness is achieved.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I only have one bathroom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She blinks at him for a moment as if in thought, then shoves his shoulder much harder than one expects before nine in the morning when you’re still in bed with your...something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Throwing back the covers, Harry chases after her, specifically avoiding the train of thought aroused by her exposed legs barely disguised form all housed in a borrowed t-shirt. One from that interdepartmental Ministry Field Day that says ‘Potter’ on it. Right across Ginny Weasley’s shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unsurprisingly, Ginny wins the race.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he arrives in the loo - a whole eight steps away from his bedroom - Ginny’s mouth is already frothy with toothpaste, one finger shoved between her lips to act as a pseudo brush.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She uses her free hand to grab his toothbrush and toss it at his chest, which he does manage to catch. After she spits and gargles, Ginny grins at him. “Pony up Potter. I like my men minty fresh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As you wish,” Harry answers, maybe even with a bit of a suave edge, and squeezes a healthy glob of toothpaste onto the bristles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny pushes her bum up onto the counter absently finger combing her hair as she watches him brush. “Since we’ve skipped right to the ‘be open about bad breath’ bit, am I allowed to say you smell quite good?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean,” Harry pauses, realizing his mouth is half full of foam. He spits and turns the spigot back on. “Old ladies at the market tell me that so we’re at least that close.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do they put their tongue down your throat first?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry nearly spits directly at the mirror. As it is, he kind of just dribbled some toothpaste tinged water down his chin. He’s very smooth. “No, that’s just you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For all her teasing, Ginny doesn’t acknowledge that little disaster beyond throwing a hand towel his way. She does smile a bit when he says he doesn’t let old ladies snog him though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s comforting I suppose. Aunt Muriel is safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry tosses the towel aside and follows Ginny back toward his bedroom. “Does she like how I smell?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny climbs back onto her side of the bed - it’s nice thinking of it as her side - and laughs. “Her bridge partner Bathilda certainly does.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a nervous chuckle of his own Harry settles at the end of the bed, one leg tucked underneath his bum. “So. Minty fresh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, you really are a charmer,” Ginny teases.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theoretically, this should not be hard. They’ve already snogged and then some. They shared a bed and at one point Ginny was the big spoon. But now it’s here and real and they’ve talked and brushed teeth and Harry’s just as crazy about her as before. Moreso.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Harry runs his increasingly clammy palms over his sleep pants, “I don’t really know how to move things along.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny laughs and a small blush even rises on her cheeks as she scoots her way back down the bed to sit almost right at his side so her bare calf brushes his arm. She prods his shoulder playfully. “Put your face on my face. Not that hard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One deep breath steadies his nerves somewhat and assists on drumming up the courage to twist and face her fully. There’s not much space left between them and what is there is pretty much not worth the mention. Not when Harry’s fully aware of each and every place their skin touches - her toes tucked beneath his calf, his fingers brushing her thigh, her nose now bruising along his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He barely manages the breath needed to mutter a sharp, “Shut it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny’s exhale tickles his lips and her smirk almost makes their lips brush. “Make me, Potter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry purses his lips in exaggerated thoughtfulness so that final bit of distance is almost completely gone. His pulse skitters. “By making our faces touch?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With an almighty growl, Ginny knits her fingers through Harry’s hair and drags him forward while she drops back to the mussed sheets. He hears her let out a low swear before pulling his lips to hers. One of Harry’s hands presses into the mattress next to Ginny’s head, grounding him even as she swallows his gasp when their hips press together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can feel her smirk against his skin and lets his right hand skirt up her side, barely lingering at her knickers before his palm warms her ribs. Though it quickly knocks her for a loop like he’d hoped, her moan is quickly answered by one of his own as she arches her chest toward him and shifts his hand further up her chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Each time their lips come together it’s a mix of desperation for another kiss and their next breath until it feels like he can’t quite survive without either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he has to figure out how to when Ginny’s hands wriggle under the hem of his t-shirt and she works it over his head, taking his glasses with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before she tosses it aside he grabs it and half flops across her middle, knocking the wind from her lungs. “Wait!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh - geeze. Mind my ribs. I might need them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry buries his face in the sheets and unhelpfully remains in his splayed position. “My glasses.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny nudges his side until he rolls onto his back and she uses his momentum to pull herself over his hips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While she looks at him with a Cheshire-like grin, Harry tries to get the gears of his brain to grind into action and somehow manages to blurt, “Can we talk?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She watches and waits and Harry can’t really bring himself to keep eye contact for long, but she doesn’t seem angry and she’s still straddling his hips. All in all things could be worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yet, he’s not really sure what to do with his hands, or why it feels like every muscle in his face has stopped working appropriately. “I’m sort of mad about you Gin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of her fingers brushes hair back from his forehead and she smiles, softer this time. “Well I sort of am too - about you that is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sitting forward, Harry bands his arms around her middle and presses their foreheads together, his eyes shut softly when he breathes her in and murmurs. “I’m not so good with emotions, so this is a bit out of my area of expertise. But I think it would be brilliant to - you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you asking me to go steady, Harry James?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pinches her side and tucks his face into her neck. “Don’t tease me! You’re mean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny’s lips find his temple, his cheek, her nose brushes his jawline, driving him batty even as she chuckles. “I’m hilarious and you </span>
  <em>
    <span>like </span>
  </em>
  <span>it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry doesn’t manage anything more than a grunt in return before Ginny cups his jaw and guides his chin so they’re face to face. “My answer is yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next kiss is like the kindling at the beginning of a bonfire set to blaze into the early hours, heat slowly licking higher until the flames grow to fill the night sky. After that, each joining of their lips blends together like a melody Harry’s just learning and can’t wait to memorize. Each breath is shared between them, every one of her sighs fills his lungs, and the happiness bubbles in his chest like the sun glows beneath his ribs rather than a bounding heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny’s hands are cold when they slip over his bare torso and Harry jolts, their earlier battle with his t-shirt half forgotten in the interim. “Sorry did I - ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry shakes his head. “No. Don’t apologize. Just - ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Skin to skin is best for preserving body heat, “ Ginny suggests with a dangerous smirk, her fingers already toying with the hem of her borrowed t-shirt. “If you’re feeling at risk, I’d be happy to help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In no need for further encouragement, Harry quickly bunches the shirt up enough to lift it overhead and toss the soft cotton to the floor. He watches her for a minute, eyes dipping down once and lingering only briefly before rising back to her face, glowing like the setting sun, flyaways set ‘round her face with the static from her lost garment, electricity that feels like they’ve created it themselves with everything he feels welling up inside. Everything that’s between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first brush of her soft skin against his is blissful oblivion and Ginny draws him deeper, each kiss better than firewhiskey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their hands work the remaining garments free and Harry can’t quite place whose nimble fingers do the work. But everything, every breath, each place their bare skin touches, the feel of her gaze on his, the dust motes floating in the late morning light, all come into sharp focus in the moments before they join.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And after, their movements slowly become a dance, following rhythms like their banter, their kisses, everything they do. It’s like each of these seconds is a continuation of who they are together and it’s almost too much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny’s hands knit through Harry’s curls, drawing him close while he tries to keep himself from crushing her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gin - ” He tucks his forehead to her shoulder and feels her laughter. “You’re not supposed to be laughing at me. Also I - ah.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apparently beyond chatting, Ginny draws his lips to hers, half a kiss, half desperately gasped breaths.  Once he’s fully in her thrall, she flips him onto his back so quickly he wonders once again if she isn’t just a little bit magic. Her hair is wild, cheeks red, and eyes sparking when she arches her back and twists so he feels like he may black out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harry just shut that brain off, eh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t take much longer for either of them, so entwined and breathless that Harry’s not sure whether the sighs and groans are his or Ginny’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the end, they’re entangled beneath the sheet, skin too warmed for more than the light layer, and Harry can’t tear his eyes away. He can’t seem to regret it, not when Ginny’s eyes remain fixed on his so his chest feels like a glowing, warm sunrise filling him from head to toe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His thumb brushes her cheek. “You’re everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m too satisfied to think of something cheeky to say back. All fluff and nonsense about feelings,” Ginny murmurs, eyes drifting closed. “You’ve ruined me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have I done the impossible? Have I bested Ginny Weasley’s razor sharp cheek with the power of my w- ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like a flash of lightning, Ginny’s fingers cover his lips, halting his sentence as she cracks open one eye. “There was no good way for that sentence to end.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry kisses her fingertips and then pulls her hand to his chest, away from his mouth. “I could have been about to say ‘wooing’ or ‘wit’ or - ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you weren’t. Some childish reference to your happy bits was about to leave your mouth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could’ve been.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lying already - it’s only been…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To be fair, this all started with a lie,” Harry says, chuckling softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ron doesn’t count.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I meant - ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh right,” Ginny mutters, shifting so her back is to his chest. She pokes and prods until Harry’s arms are banded around her </span>
  <em>
    <span>just right</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “I forgot about your ill conceived heroism.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We got together because of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In spite of,” Ginny corrects. “Now let’s nap. I need you well rested when your, what did you say? When your ‘wit’ is back up and running for another round.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry laughs against her hair and pinches her side. “You’re such a jock.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hums. “And you’re mad about me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mad - madly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ginny stiffens and Harry thinks he’s spooked her with the </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost</span>
  </em>
  <span> admission, just for a moment until her muscles relax. “I’m madly mad too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s lucky, perhaps, that Ginny can’t see the wild grin that splits his face. Once he’s gotten his brain and mouth back into some sort of working order, he kisses the crown of her head and orders, “Kip now. More madly mad later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll be here when I wake up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry pulls the blanket back up, sweat damp skin cooled in their rest, before pulling Ginny almost imperceptibly closer. “Right here.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
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